


Situation Normal - All Fucked Up

by Ymas



Category: The Grand Tour (TV) RPF, Top Gear (UK) RPF
Genre: CHM Santa 2019, Christmas, Established Relationship, Fluff and Humor, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-03
Updated: 2020-01-03
Packaged: 2021-02-26 04:45:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,836
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22101661
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ymas/pseuds/Ymas
Summary: Written for the CHMS 2019 Secret Santa Challenge forMarginaliana.The prompt was:Some sort of farce! Everyone trying to get home to Christmas dinner together but things keep going wrong in increasingly silly ways.And that pretty much sums it up.
Relationships: Jeremy Clarkson/Richard Hammond/James May
Kudos: 12





	Situation Normal - All Fucked Up

**Author's Note:**

  * For [marginaliana](https://archiveofourown.org/users/marginaliana/gifts).

> Published previously on CHMS under the title "Three English Cocks".  
Timeline is vaguely somewhere in the Grand Tour days but otherwise unspecified.  
None of them is currently in a relationship (except for with each other), though there’s a mention of family (again, unspecified) and Francie makes a very brief appearance.
> 
> Soooo, I had three prompts to choose from, and one of them perfectly fit my normal writing style: soft, quiet, fluffy...  
But. I was on a long trip through South Korea and Japan. Nothing in my life was "normal" at the time. And where's the fun in taking on a challenge if I'm then gonna write something I'd write anyway?  
I admit it did take a bit of <strike>shouting</strike> gentle encouragement from [delighted](https://archiveofourown.org/users/delighted/pseuds/delighted) but once I was off... I had a blast. 
> 
> This is my first ever try at humour writing and it's silly, and a little fluffy, and a lot silly, and omg I was so out of my comfort zone but thanks to delighted and her unwavering support at any hour of day or night (plus her patience with letting me bounce ideas off her)... Well, thanks to you, delighted, it got finished. And on time, too.

James is the first to make it to Jeremy's London flat.   
  
Richard finds him standing in the middle of the living room, hands folded over the back of his head, staring at the display in front of him.   
  
At the Christmas tree, unevenly decorated with worn but beautiful hand-painted baubles, garishly-flashy tinsel and an assortment of toy cars.   
  
At the three pairs of plush reindeer slippers lined up next to it.   
  
At the masses of blinking lights and twinkly stars hanging from curtain rods and light fixtures.   
  
At the Santa hats, and the fake snow, and the snowmen, and the overabundance of mistletoe.   
  
Richard quietly closes the door behind himself and walks up to James, trying to take it all in.   
  
Fails.   
It's simply too much.   
  
“So many years”, James murmurs without turning around. “So many years and he still manages to surprise me.”  
  
Richard huffs a laugh, sneaks an arm around James’ waist from behind and rests his forehead against James’ shoulder.   
  
He doesn't quite agree.  
  
Yes, the fact that there are decorations at all is a surprise.   
There is no real reason for Jeremy to decorate. No children to please anymore, no party to be held.   
  
The only reason why he would even go to the effort is this very night, them, the couple of hours they will spend here together before real life pulls them back and they will be running from meeting to meeting or jetting off to different parts of the world again.   
  
The decorations themselves, though, in all their haphazard, random glory, their overwhelming excessiveness, that in itself, is not a surprise.   
Not at all.   
That is utterly Jeremy.   
  
“It's horrible”, James whispers. “It hurts my eyeballs.”  
  
And then they are both doubled over, laughing.   
  
  


* * *

  
  
  
James heats up mulled wine from the instant mix and the bottles of red Jeremy has laid out on the counter, all the while grumbling about how you should never use cheap wine, not even if you heat it up and put an insane amount of sugar in it.   
  
Richard kisses him to shut him up, pours them both a mug and then there is a bit of drinking and a lot of laughter while they try to find the TV buried under twinkly lights in a sea of red and green, and manage to excavate it sufficiently to use the PlayStation.   
  
And Richard totally gets his arse handed to him playing Forza Horizon.   
  
  


* * *

  
  
  
It's after midnight when Jeremy finally makes it home.   
  
He slips into his reindeer shoes, gets himself a glass of mulled wine and takes the third controller Richard wordlessly holds out to him.   
  
The next couple of hours are spent in perfect contentment.   
  
They play the game until they can't come up with any more ways to insult each other's driving (and that's saying something), then Jeremy pulls up ‘Dinner For One’ on YouTube (a little known comedy sketch James has introduced them to years ago when they were stuck in an airport over Christmas) and after watching it three times in a row they move on to quiet conversation on the couch over a glass of Aberlour Single Malt.   
  
There aren't any presents.   
  
The gift is in how each of them made time for this.   
  
In the commitment not to drink too much at whatever family gathering took priority, so as to be able to drive back to London after.   
  
In the way James gently ribs Jeremy about the incredible number of candles in the room.   
  
In the way Jeremy fake-grumbles when Richard switches the Veyron with a Land Rover in pride of place on the Christmas tree.   
  
In the way James doesn't flinch when Richard, happy and mellow, drops his head into his lap.   
  
In the way no one makes fun of how Jeremy snuggles up close to them from the other side.   
  
They watch the sunrise from the roof of Jeremy's apartment building.   
It's a restricted area, but Richard long ago charmed the access code out of the apartment manager (and no, he won't tell how he did it).   
  
It's bitterly cold and they jostle and grapple for the place in the middle, trying to warm icy fingers under jackets not their own and hide chilly tips of noses in warm necks not their own, causing a lot of giggling and some entirely unmanly squealing.   
  
They can't prolong the night much longer after that, so they crawl into Jeremy's large bed for the Grand Finale of their very first properly shared Christmas night.   
  
  


* * *

  
  
  
Richard wakes to a crash, followed by elaborate cursing.   
  
James groans, rolls over, grabs Jeremy’s abandoned pillow and buries his head underneath it.   
  
Richard opens one eye. Jeremy is standing by the door, shaking his alarm clock before smashing it hard against the frame.   
  
Ah.   
That had been the noise.   
  
He hitches himself up on an elbow, yawns and watches with vague interest. It's not as if anything Jeremy does would alarm him, not anymore. Richard has known him far too well for far too long.   
  
Which doesn’t mean he isn’t still faintly puzzled by Jeremy's actions on occasion.  
  
As soon as Jeremy realises he has an audience, he shoves the clock accusingly under Richard's nose. “It's broken. It can't possibly be this late. And it didn't ring.”  
  
James’ hand shoots out from under his pile of pillows and blankets and the alarm clock disappears underneath. After a couple of seconds it comes back out again, being thrust in the general direction of where it came from. Richard grabs it before it falls to the floor.   
  
“’S not broken”, James slurs, muffled by layers of fabric. “Was never set. And time is right.”  
  
“It can't be!” Jeremy howls. “And I set it myself!”   
  
James’ hand makes a reappearance, this time to point an index finger at Jeremy. The meaning is clear.  
  
“Why don't you just use your phone like a normal person”, Richard mutters, fiddling with the settings. The sudden piercing shrill this causes makes all three of them jump.   
  
“Oh for God's sake!” James exclaims, flinging the covers back. “I’ll be in the shower, if anyone cares to join me.”  
  
“But we don't have time!” Jeremy all but squeals. “James!!”  
  
James sticks his head back out of the ensuite bath. “Jezza. Bloody Nora. Would you relax? We’ve got time enough.”  
  
“But I wanted to cook you breakfast!” He sounds genuinely upset. “I even have biscuits for dessert! But now if I do, we'll be late! And if we're all late, Andy will know something’s up. He’ll work it out. We don't have time!”  
  
James checks his watch. “So you think he’s less likely to catch on if we all arrive early, looking dishevelled and some of us -” he pointedly looks at Richard, “- still slightly debauched?”  
  
Richard sticks his tongue out at him, but it's half-hearted at best.   
It's actually quite sweet of Jeremy, having planned to make them breakfast, and Richard wouldn't mind some proper food before the long drive out to Andy’s. Especially if there isn’t any effort involved on his part.  
  
Unfortunately, though, Jeremy and James are obsessed with keeping this relationship secret from everyone.   
Family, crew - Andy, even.   
  
And it's not that Richard wants it spread all over the front page of the Daily Mail himself, no way does he want that, but he sometimes thinks they could afford to loosen up a little. They are all of them free, after all. They're not doing anything immoral, much less illegal, and they have been on the receiving end of controversy often enough not to be bothered anymore by what people think.   
He isn't quite sure why it's different with this, but he doesn't bring it up.   
  
Jeremy is still looking unsure.   
  
“Jez, if we skip proper breakfast and just have tea and your biscuits, we’ll still make it with time to spare. Stop ruining my morning. Offer still stands.”  
  
Richard hops out of bed. “Well, I’m taking it. Feel free to make the tea, Jez!”   
  
“This is _my_ home, _you_ make tea!”  
  
Jeremy may beat him to the bathroom door because he’s closer but Richard is far more agile and easily ducks under his arm.  
  
Luckily Jeremy has a walk-in shower that comfortably fits three.  
  
It's one of the reasons why they prefer to meet up at his place.  
  
  


* * *

  
  
  
Andy has this amazing place in the country and every year on Boxing Day, he and his wife throw the Christmas bash to end all Christmas bashes.  
It's loud, it's boisterous, it's raucous, it's crazy.  
It's the most fun to be had on Boxing Day in the whole of Great Britain.   
Fact.   
  
Of that Richard is certain.  
  
It also starts exactly at three and Andy has very little tolerance for latecomers.  
  
They end up foregoing the tea after all, in favour of a slightly more protein-based breakfast, agreeing to head out in good time instead, and stop for tea on the way if time and traffic allows it.   
  
  


* * *

  
  
  
“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me.”   
  
Richard stops short in front of the visitor section in the underground car park of Jeremy's apartment complex.   
  
How he hadn't noticed this last night on arrival is beyond him.   
  
“It's Christmas.” James affectionately pats the fender of the ugly brown car. “I thought I'd treat myself.”  
  
“To a decade-old Dacia Sandero?!?”   
  
There's a roar as Jeremy pulls up next to them in his hideous lime green Huracán.  
  
Richard groans at the ridiculousness of the combination.   
  
The Lamborghini’s window winds down.  
  
“Good News!” Richard exclaims in a fake-enthusiastic voice.   
  
“What?” Jeremy asks promptly. Because that's of course what he's conditioned to do.   
  
“We definitely won't all arrive at the same time!”   
Richard points.  
  
Jeremy hoots with laughter. “I’d get out and mock you properly for that, May, if I was sure I’d ever manage to get back into this!”  
  
James very pointedly opens the door of the Sandero and easily slides into the driver's seat, raising a smug eyebrow at Jeremy.   
  
Richard shakes his head at them but he's laughing when he walks the few spaces over to his BMW.   
  
And stops short for a second time.   
  
“Uh, chaps -?” Luckily the other two are still busy trading insults and haven't left yet. “Chaps?!” Richard has to wave his arms over his head to get their attention. “Little help over here? Would be appreciated?”   
  
James slides gracefully (well, as gracefully as a middle-aged man with Spaniel hair could ever manage) back out of the car, which earns him a flash of Jeremy's middle finger.   
  
Richard goes back to staring at his own car while James walks over to him. Jeremy revs his V10, then slowly rolls up alongside.   
  
“Richard”, James says evenly, “there is a partridge in your front seat.”   
  
“Oh, is that what it is?” Richard's voice has jumped an octave. He clears it. “Thank you, James, for enlightening me.” Better.   
  
“Richard, why is there a partridge nesting on your front seat?”   
  
Oh, joy, Jeremy has decided it’s worth getting out of the car after all.   
  
“I don't know! Why do _you_ know what kind of bird it is, anyway?”   
  
Jeremy gives him a sideways look, probably trying to work out if Richard really has forgotten all about their various enforced bird watching stops in their various specials or if it's shock-induced amnesia, but they are both distracted by James happily starting to hum the tune to ‘Twelve Days of Christmas’ while peering in through the window.   
  
“It has babies, look.”  
  
“Eggs”, Richard clarifies.   
  
“Babies in the making”, Jeremy corrects, bending down for a better look himself.   
  
“Well, fact is, we can't possibly disturb her”, James says decisively, straightening up. A sweeping gesture at the cars. “Make your choice.”  
  
Richard gapes. “Between pathetic and midlife crisis??”   
  
Jeremy is working hard at folding himself back into his car. “Better - (mutter) - idea - (grunt) - Hammond? All my other - (damn it) - cars are at the cottage.” Extensive cursing. “Can’t lend you another.”   
  
“Oh, bugger it.” Richard briskly walks over to the Sandero and throws his overnight bag into the boot. James grins smugly at Jeremy.   
  
“Oh, but you know me better than that, mate, don't you?” Richard passes James again and gets into the Huracán.   
  
No way is he going to turn up at the party of the year in a Romanian second-hand car.   
  
  


* * *

  
  
  
They are barely three corners on when a Christmas tree, fully decorated, falls out of the sky and crashes onto the Lambo’s bonnet.   
  
There is no point in swerving, as by the time it registers it has already happened, and Jeremy, in an admirable show of flawless reflexes, just hits the brakes hard instead of steering them into oncoming traffic.   
  
They both sit there, mouths hanging open, staring at the shattered baubles and the mass of fir twigs obscuring the windscreen.   
  
With a bang, and several seconds too late, the passenger seat airbag inflates.   
  
Richard yelps, trying to wriggle out of the way, and that spurs Jeremy into action. He opens the door, hangs out of it and manoeuvres the car onto the pavement.   
  
He plonks back into the seat after that and they briefly look at each other before continuing to stare at the smashed tree.  
  
James’ face appears in the open driver's side door.   
  
“Uh, Jezza, there's a Christmas tree on your bonnet.”  
  
Jeremy tries to scramble out of the car so quickly he gets caught between the seat belt and the ridiculously low door frame and falls backwards out of it, landing on his arse on the tarmac.   
  
It's just lucky that the passing cars are all giving them a wide berth.   
  
He clambers to his feet and stares some more at the tree and the quietly steam-hissing bonnet.   
  
“Richard, your airbag…”   
  
“Yes, James, I noticed!” Richard snaps, finally opening the door on his side and squeezing out past the airbag.   
  
“Are you ok?” James asks, voice caught somewhere between worry and amusement.   
  
“Yes I - yes”, Richard mutters distractedly, checking for bruises. He seems to be, actually. Sometimes the smaller body size does come in handy. Not that’ he’d ever admit it.  
  
He steps back and scans the apartment blocks around them. Nothing looks out of place, no one acts as if they’ve seen, much less done, anything.   
  
“What the fuck?!?” Jeremy explodes, rather belatedly.   
  
Richard's brain struggles to think of an explanation. Any explanation. Fastens on the only one it can come up with.   
  
“There's something like - Yuletide? In Scandinavia? Where they throw their Christmas trees out of the window? I’ve seen it on TV, I think.” He hesitates, then snaps his fingers. ”In an IKEA advert!”   
  
“That's not until January”, James says mildly. “Also, I'm not sure I’d want to trust IKEA adverts on cultural accuracy.”  
  
“But -”   
  
“If the two of you could stop arguing about obscure pagan cults and give me a hand here, maybe?”  
  
“We’re not arguing”, James says. “I'm just setting him right.” But he walks around the car and helps Jeremy heave the massive tree off the bonnet.   
  
Any possible witty comeback on Richard's part is completely forgotten when the tree comes off and all the Lambo does is spout a last pathetic column of vapour in the air before it sputters and very obviously dies.   
  
“Aw, mate, I think that one's a goner”, Richard says, trying hard to sound sympathetic and fooling no one, for sure.   
  
James glances at his watch. “I hate to rush you gentlemen, but I think we’re now at a point where we don't have time to wait for the tow truck.”   
  
Jeremy mournfully regards his car.   
  
“Yeah, we’d better not be here when the police arrive or we won't ever make it.” Richard pats Jeremy's shoulder and gets into the Dacia’s passenger seat.   
  
Jeremy's head shoots up. “I’m not going in that!!”   
  
James shrugs. “Well, take the bus, then. If there is one. I don't care.”   
  
He, too, turns towards the Dacia. Jeremy looks undecided.   
  
Somewhere in the distance, there is the sound of sirens. Certainly not meant for them, but it seems to tip the scale.   
  
Jeremy grabs his stuff out of the handbag holder that Lambo designers generously call ‘the boot’ (it's jammed, but he gets it open with a few well-aimed blows of his fist), then comes over with the air of a man who’s choosing the gallows over the stake.   
  
James quickly slides into the driver's seat.   
  
Jeremy could hardly look any more unhappy.  
  
  


* * *

  
  
  
“We’re never gonna make it”, Jeremy grumbles, knees almost up to his chin in the tight confinements of the Dacia Sandero’s back seat. “Never ever, not with him doing the driving.”   
  
James is driving a sedate and steady two miles per hour under the speed limit.   
  
The oil change warning light is on.  
The suspension rattles.  
The sound system doesn't work.   
Of course it doesn't.  
  
James is entertaining them with humming the tune to ‘Twelve Days of Christmas’, over and over again, happily tapping along on the steering wheel. Occasionally he bursts into singsonging a silly, made up line about trees falling out of the sky or some such, but he always follows it up with the verse about the partridge in a pear tree. Or on a car seat.  
  
And well, Richard may have joined in a time or two.   
It really is all rather funny, if you think about it.   
  
“You're not bullying me into letting you drive this beauty, Clarkson. I know you, you’d break it on first try. Now cheer up, it's Christmas and we’ve still got plenty of time!”  
  
“Not if we want to stop for tea, we don't”, Jeremy grouses. “And that's what I find myself sorely in need of, tea. Emphasis on sorely. The longer the sorer.”   
  
Richard laughs but takes pity on him. “We’ll get you takeaway coffee”, he says, because neither Jeremy nor James would touch takeaway tea. Coffee, anyhow, is usually accepted. “And then I’ll swap places with you. But only”, he turns around and employs his sternest possible index finger, “only if you stop moaning.”   
  
Jeremy lights up, grins, and mimes zipping his mouth shut.   
  
It doesn't last for long.   
  
But then it would be worrying if it did.  
  
  


* * *

  
  
  
James pulls up to a petrol station with a small café next to it right after they turn off the motorway and Richard offers to dash inside and get some coffee while James fills up.   
  
He runs over, opens the door (which sets a cacophony of tingly bells in motion) and is almost swept off his feet by an avalanche.   
  
He _is_ swept off his feet a second later when he tries to jump out of the way and steps onto actual freaking ice.  
  
“Ooow - ouch.”  
  
“Oh my goodness”, the girl behind the counter exclaims. “Oh dearie me!"   
  
Richard picks himself up off the floor. It takes him several tries to find his footing on the slippery surface.   
  
He groans. So much for thinking he’d escaped the bruises. Judging from the lingering aches, the other two will be sure to find rather fascinating shades of blue and purple on his body for a couple of days to come.  
  
“What the -?” He tries to brush off the sticky stuff that hit him full blast and which is now clinging to him everywhere. Fake snow. In white and very glittery silver. _Everywhere_. His hair, his skin, his clothes.  
  
“We’re a snow and ice experience bar!” the girl explains proudly. “Didn't you see the signs outside? Welcome to Winter Wonderland! Are you alright, though? You weren't meant to run. Or stop so suddenly. Or go off the carpet.” She looks at him more closely. “Wait, aren't you that bloke off the telly? Captain Slowly or something?”  
  
Richard stares at her.   
  
“Yes, yes it's you, isn't it? I would recognise you anywhere! Oh my goodness I'm a huge fan! I'm your biggest fan! Can I take a picture?”  
  
“I -” Richard decides that acquiescence is probably the fastest course out of here. “Sure. Captain Slowly. That's me. Yep.”   
  
She squeals in delight, snapping away until Richard manages to slide up to the counter. He winces a little, rubbing his bruised knee, and the girl switches from overexcited to deeply apologetic in a heartbeat.   
  
“I am so sorry about that! Here, let me get you our special, it's on the house! How many?”   
  
Richard holds up three fingers and the girl gets busy behind the counter, excitedly chattering away about a show Richard is pretty sure is neither Top Gear nor The Grand Tour, but he thinks it wiser not to ask. Busies himself with failing to get the fake snow off his clothes instead.   
  
She lines up three drinks on the counter. "Would you sign something for me, Mr Slow?"   
  
"I'm… Yeah, alright, sure."  
  
The girl squeals again, hands him a marker and opens her blouse to reveal a very pretty little white bra.  
  
Richard stares. Realises what he's doing, tears his eyes away and stares at her face instead.  
  
"Pretty please?" She blinks her lashes. "I love how you always come last in everything. So realistic, so down to earth!"  
  
Richard swivels around, searching for the hidden camera that must surely be somewhere, and very nearly loses his balance again.  
  
"I - I need to go. Uh, yeah. Nice place you've got here. Bye!"  
  
He stuffs a tip into the closest donation box.   
There’s a picture of reindeer on it.  
Whatever.   
  
He gathers up the three drinks, gives her a distracted nod and makes his way as quickly as he carefully can along the narrow strip of carpet laid over the ice to the door. He reaches it just as James opens it from the other side, clearly having come looking for him.   
  
“Oh, there you are! Uhm - there's glitter in your hair, Richard. Or all over you, rather.”  
  
“Let’s go”, Richard hisses through clenched teeth.   
  
“Byebye Mr Slowly, it was amazing meeting you!”  
  
“Mr - Slowly?” James asks, bemused, stretching to see over Richard's head into the shop.   
  
“Go, James. Go. Just go. Trust me.” Richard pushes past him, balancing the three drinks and, after a confused second or two, James follows him.   
  
“Whoa, what happened to you, mate?” Jeremy leans forward and blows sparkly fake-snow out of Richard's hair. “You look like the Snow Queen!”  
  
“More like Olaf”, James amends, tugging at a strand of Richard's hair and shaking some of the sticky flakes loose.  
  
“Completely edible in any case", Jeremy grins lasciviously.   
  
The café's doorbells tingle.  
  
“Chaps, we need to be gone. We need to be gone _now_”, Richard whispers urgently.   
  
"Mr Slowly? Captain? Captain Sir?"  
  
“Jez, take us away from here!”  
  
He shakes the various lingering hands out of his hair and pushes past them and into the back seat of the car.  
  
“My pleasure!” Jeremy grins and before Richard is even properly settled, Jeremy is in the driver's seat and has the engine running.   
  
“Oi!” James protests.   
  
“Mr Slow!! You forgot to sign for me!” the girl’s voice drifts over from the entrance.   
  
“James, shut up and get in!” Richard must sound desperate enough, as James slides into the passenger seat without further protest. Jeremy pulls away in a spray of gravel.   
  
“Phew!” Richard shakes himself like a wet dog, glitter flying everywhere.   
  
“Careful with the upholstery!” James admonishes. And then: “Did she really call you...?”  
  
“Yes! Yes she did!” Richard giggles. Because the absurdity of it all. “I might be scarred for life!”   
  
“I'm not sure I want to know any details, but I think I was promised an invigorating drink”, Jeremy says, settling at a neat three miles per hour over the speed limit. They will make it in time, after all.   
  
“Oh, right.” Richard hands over two of the styrofoam cups, then goes back to trying to brush more of the glitter off.   
  
“Ey stop that, you pikey! It's my Dacia Sandero, not Cinderella’s Pumpkin!”  
  
“But it's everywhere, I need to -“  
  
“Stop it, he said." Jeremy's voice is stern.  
  
Richard stops. Looks at him uncomprehendingly.  
  
"I like it, I want it to stay”, Jeremy says decisively.  
  
Richard holds his gaze in the rear-view mirror for a second, understanding dawning. Imagining the moment when the clothes come off and it will be revealed just _where_ exactly _everywhere_ is.   
  
Maybe it will be worth it after all, turning up at Andy's looking like the love child of Jack Frost and the tooth fairy.  
  
Only because Richard is still closely watching Jeremy in the mirror does he notice the look of absolute disgust crossing his face when he takes a sip of his drink. And the pained, forced, convulsive swallow that follows it.  
  
A second later, James spits his own first mouthful all over the dashboard.   
  
“Oh, nice one, May, congratulations on redecorating your car!” Jeremy exclaims, not quite having managed to avoid all the droplets. ”If I'd done that, we'd never hear the end of it! How lucky I have more control over my gag reflex than you do. Ew. Gross.”  
  
“How lucky you’ve had quite a lot more practice than we did, recently”, James replies dryly. He digs through the glovebox for something to wipe the mess off the plastic, gives up and pulls off his shirt, using that instead. “Bloody Nora, Richard, what even _is_ this?”   
  
Jeremy gives James a sideways look. “Are you two doing it on purpose? No, seriously, are you actually _trying_ to make us late?” He glances at Richard who is trying very hard to keep it together in the back seat. “One gets decked out all in glitter, which, for the record, I had no idea what a turn-on it is until today, and the other gets naked in my passenger seat.”   
  
“_My_ passenger seat, Clarkson”, James grumbles, balling up the shirt and turning the heating up. “Now shut up and drive.”   
  
Richard chucks the contents of his own cup out of the window untasted.   
  
He’s hiccupping with suppressed laughter.   
  
Jeremy gives him one look and then he is in stitches, and even James is quickly losing the fight to keep a straight face.  
  
By the time they turn off the main road and into the maze of country lanes that will eventually take them to Andy, all three are roaring with laughter like they haven't since - ooh, early TopGear days, probably.   
  
“A Christmas tree! Decorated! Out of the sky! Even we couldn't have thought of a thing like that!” James manages between brays of laughter. The endearing ones, the ones he can't control, the ones that make him sound like a cute little donkey.   
  
“Just baaam, out of nowhere!” Richard gasps. “And I'm a partridge daddy now, too!”  
  
“Your face!” Jeremy hoots, mimicking in a slightly offensive way. “Your face when you came out of that coffee shop!”  
  
“And Jeremy is into glitter!” James again.   
  
“Good News!” Richard giggles, flicking some of it at James.   
  
“Rrrawr", growls Jeremy in what is probably supposed to be a sexy way. He keeps it together long enough to direct a suggestive leer first at James and then somewhere in the direction of the rear-view mirror. Loses it again immediately after. “And she thought you were May!" he guffaws. "Called you Slow!” He can hardly keep the car straight.   
  
Richard sobers up instantly. “That part will never be mentioned ever again”, he says sternly. “Never ever.”   
  
Momentary silence.   
  
Richard hiccups right into it and they completely fall apart laughing, all over again.  
  
  


* * *

  
  
  
They might have still made it on time.   
  
Just.   
  
They might have been alright.  
  
Timewise, at least.  
  
If not for the donkeys.   
  
Jeremy rounds a corner and there they are. A whole herd of them. With cute Santa earcovers and jingly bells around their necks.  
  
Jeremy hits the brakes just in time.   
  
They stare at the donkeys.   
The donkeys stare right back.   
  
James fumbles for his mobile. Gets it out and starts snapping away.  
  
Jeremy rolls his window down. “Shoo?" he says. It doesn't sound very convincing.   
  
The donkeys are accordingly unimpressed.   
One starts to lick the left headlight.   
Just as well, the whole car is in dire need of a cleaning.  
  
Richard scans the area for someone in charge. There must be, these donkeys didn't dress up as Santas all by themselves now, did they?  
  
But the only living thing non-donkey he can see are two border collies, lying at attention by the side of the road and excitedly wagging their tails.   
  
“What are you waiting for, Richard?” James asks.   
  
“Huh?”   
  
“You're the only one of us who has ever herded anything, so get out and get them off the road.”   
  
“And may I remind you how well that went?” Richard yelps. “And that was with my own dog!”   
  
“Which may have been part of the problem”, James says, switching his phone to recording mode and rolling his own window down. “These look like proper dogs. Go on then, get!”   
  
“TG _is_ a proper dog”, Richard mumbles, but he obediently gets out of the car. What else can he do?   
  
The dogs jump up and start to dance excitedly around him. He looks back at the car. “Now what?”   
  
Jeremy gestures vaguely. “Well, herd them! Or have the dogs herd them, whatever.”   
  
“These are not sheep, Jezza!”   
  
“Maybe if you find the First Donkey and lead him away, the others will follow?” James helpfully provides. He shivers slightly without his shirt in the cold breeze wafting in through the open windows, but he bravely keeps his phone trained on Richard.   
  
Richard helplessly looks at the dogs. “Help me out here, chaps? What do we do?” The dogs look at him expectantly.   
  
Richard motions between them and the donkeys.   
The dogs look back and forth between him and the donkeys.   
The donkeys remain unimpressed.   
  
“Go away”, Richard says, pushing a little at the closest donkey. It takes a step to the left.   
Huh.   
Jeremy cheers.   
Richard pushes harder. “Come on, bugger off, we have a party to go to!”   
  
The donkey stumbles to the side of the road.   
  
Encouraged by this success, Richard gets bolder, pushes at furry bodies left and right, makes more noise.   
The dogs get into it now, too, yapping and barking, jumping up and down, nipping at heels. Richard's and the donkeys', equally.   
Whether they are trying to help or want him to lay off, Richard isn't certain.   
  
They sure create chaos, though.   
  
He’s trying to get the donkeys already off the road to stay where they are while simultaneously trying to shove those still on off. He is distantly aware of the other two laughing in the car, but he ignores it. He's making progress, here.  
  
“Yo! Glitter elf! What do you think you’re doing? Hands off me donkeys!”  
  
Richard whips around.   
The explanation on the tip of his tongue dies a very sudden death.   
  
Because standing there on a little knoll next to the road is a Santa with a pitchfork.   
  
And he's decidedly not amused.   
  
“Townsfolk”, he mutters. “Scaring me donkeys." He wields his pitchfork. "I’d call the police on each and every one of yeh if only they’d bother with the likes of yeh", he shouts, looking surprisingly menacing for a man with a floppy red hat and a white beard.  
  
He whistles and the dogs come running to him, neatly scattering the donkeys off the road.   
  
“Away with yeh, yeh evil spirits!” Santa shakes his pitchfork.   
  
The Dacia pulls up beside Richard and he doesn't lose any time tumbling inside.   
  
“And a very happy Christmas to you, too, Santa Scrooge”, James says politely, and then Jeremy pulls away in another spray of gravel.   
  
"That was -" Richard is at a loss for words.  
  
"- fantastic material for the next Christmas episode!" Jeremy booms excitedly. "Good thinking mate, what with the filming!"  
  
"Good luck getting consent from this pleasant individual", James murmurs distractedly, trying to get the video to play from the beginning.  
  
"Isn't that what producers are for?" Jeremy asks innocently and yes, Richard already sees himself on the show making an arse of himself with the asses. Ah well. As long as it's good for a laugh.  
  
James has managed to get the vid going, giggling along with it, which is a seldom enough occurrence, and Jeremy says "I want to watch that, May, don't let anything happen to it!" and Richard leans back in his seat contentedly.   
  
Bloody hell, what a weird day.  
  
But oh so worth it.  
  
  


* * *

  
  
  
“I hope it goes without saying that _I’ll_ be the one taking my car up that driveway, Clarkson," James says when they draw closer to Andy's place.   
  
“But we don't have time to stop _again_, May!”  
  
It's now mostly a matter of principle and the two of them could well end up headbutting for the rest of the evening if Jeremy doesn't give in. James’ patience may be legendary, but once it reaches breaking point, he can be extremely stubborn. And a little vindictive.  
  
An intervention is in order.   
  
“We're already late anyway and think about it, mate. Do you really want to be seen driving this heap of junk to Andy's party?”   
  
“Oi”, James protests. “May I remind you that this heap of junk is what got us here in the first place? Your heaps of junk, on the other hand, are both out of commission.”   
  
“A Christmas tree fell on mine, James, how is that the car’s fault?” Jeremy points out indignantly, but it does the trick. He pulls into a layby just at the beginning of Andy's insanely long forested driveway.  
  
Jeremy gets out of the car. James simply slides over.  
  
“For chrissake, May, don't you have another shirt or something you could wear?” Jeremy asks when James shivers in the chill from the open door.   
  
“We’re nearly there, no reason to mess up my bag at this point, is there”, James says and pulls the door shut.   
  
Jeremy rolls his eyes and re-opens it. “I need a slash, be right back.”  
  
“Maaate, we’ll be there in ten minutes!” Richard protests, but the door falls shut again and Jeremy disappears into a cluster of trees.  
  
A second later he comes stumbling out backwards, trips over a log and falls rather spectacularly into the shrubby ditch by the roadside.   
  
James and Richard leap out of the car in alarm.   
  
“Rudolph”, Jeremy gasps when they reach him, lying on his back and flailing like a June bug. “Rudolph!”  
  
“I’d call you delusional, mate”, James says, jumping into the ditch, “but after today, I'm not sure I should.”  
  
“No, I really don't think you should”, Richard giggles as he follows him down into the shallow pit. Together they haul Jeremy to his feet and brush off the worst of the dirt and twigs and leaves caught in his hair and clothes.   
  
There's a rustle in the undergrowth and, one by one, nine reindeer file past them and down the country lane.   
  
The one in front sports a bright red nose.   
  
Jeremy points, mouth soundlessly working.   
  
“I see them”, James says evenly, watching them strut down the same road the three of them have just come from.   
  
It's a rare occurrence, Jeremy Clarkson being rendered speechless. And not even for the first time that day.   
  
Richard wishes he could enjoy it more.  
Wishes he weren't so distracted by the group of people dressed in bathrobes who are following the reindeer on foot. A woman in a tatty reddish one. A man in simple brown. Two more in very fluffy stripy ones.  
  
Richard is momentarily transported back to an improvised nativity scene in the Middle East. “This is all wrong”, he says slowly. “They don’t have the Stig. And they belong with the donkeys. And the reindeer belong with the Santa with the pitchfork.”  
  
Jeremy squeaks a disbelieving sound of the kind that usually embarrasses the hell out of Richard if it happens to him.  
  
Richard listens to the echo of his own words. Yes, he sounds completely bonkers. He looks at James. James always has an explanation for everything.   
  
James is still watching the weird parade disappearing almost soundlessly around a bend. He shrugs, then shivers violently. “Let’s go.” He picks another twig out of Jeremy's hair and turns back to the car.   
  
Jeremy stays rooted to the spot.   
  
Richard sighs resignedly, grabs him by the elbow and tows him along.   
  
It's really not the weirdest thing that has happened to them today.   
  
  
  


* * *

  
  
  
They arrive at Andy's less than an hour late. Which isn't too bad, all things considered.   
  
But none of them has had tea. Or coffee. Or anything to eat. Or anything like what could be considered a sane minute since they’d started out. They are quite desperate.  
  
Andy comes out of the shed with an armful of logs just as they tumble out of the car.   
  
He stops in his tracks.   
Looks them over, one after the other.  
  
Shirtless James.   
Sparkly Richard.   
Dishevelled Jeremy.   
  
Raises an eyebrow.   
  
“You’re late.”   
  
“It's not our fault!” Jeremy is immediately on the defensive.   
  
"You live in a weird neck of the woods, mate." James.   
  
“You won't _ever_ believe what happened to us!” Richard.  
  
“It seems pretty obvious.”  
  
“There were partridge babies. And then a Christmas tree killed my car, and Hammond got called slow, and then we were attacked by a Santa with a pitchfork, and - and - _donkeys_! So many donkeys! And Rudolph is leading Mary and Joseph to London!” Jeremy babbles on, oblivious.  
  
James puts a hand on his elbow to stop him. “Wait a second, Jez. Exactly what is obvious, Andy?”  
  
Andy sniggers. “That you aren't able to keep your hands off each other even just for the drive out here. Which, let's be honest, isn't all that long." He winks.  
  
Richard's breath catches.   
Jeremy's face appropriates roughly the same expression as when he saw the reindeer.   
James goes very, very still. Richard can feel him tensing up beside him. He isn't sure whether to take a step closer or a step away.   
Stays where he is.   
  
Andy laughs. “Seriously, boys, while I appreciate your creativity on a professional level - why not just stop with the farce? Everyone is aware you're shagging and everyone is happy for you. It's getting ridiculous, the trying to hide it. And frankly? It's exhausting to play along, I'm done.”  
  
He shakes his head and turns to go. Thinks better of it and turns to face them again. “I’d be grateful if you could clean up some before entering decent society. Even though I quite like the fairy look, Richard. Maybe we can do something with that for the next series. Oh, and find something to wear, James, why don't you?"   
  
Richard and Jeremy both look at James’ bare chest. There's an actual blush spreading handsomely up his neck and onto his face.   
  
“Santas with pitchforks, my arse”, Andy chuckles under his breath, walking up the front steps and disappearing into the house.   
  
"Oh." James.  
  
"Huh." Richard.  
  
"You know, I'd feel so much better about the whole thing if you were right and I'd actually gotten any, instead of it all being the bloody fucking truth!" Jeremy calls after Andy. "Look at them! Do you have any idea how much restraint it took to keep my hands off them this whole time? And what for??"  
  
The door has long fallen shut behind Andy.  
  
Some of the second floor windows have opened, though.  
  
Porter, hanging out of one of them, gives a drawn-out whistle.  
  
Francie, looking out of another, toasts them with a glass of Champagne.  
  
Abbie and Evie cheer out of a third.  
  
"Bloody Nora, mate, did you have to?" James asks, but there's a smile now, going nicely with the blush on his face.  
  
"Way to make a declaration, mate", Richard admonishes, but he, too, is holding back a grin.  
  
"Oops." Jeremy looks at them sheepishly. Smirks. "Permission to say cock?"  
  
"I guess it's more like permission to _get_ cock, pretty much anytime we want, now", James says with a shrug.  
  
Richard laughs out loud. Trust James to take it in stride. After all the enforced secrecy, trust him to just flip a switch.  
That's James for you.   
  
Richard loves it. Loves James for it.   
  
Loves _James_.   
  
He flashes their audience a two-fingered salute, moves in, and kisses him. Straight on the mouth. Kisses that smug smile right off James’ face. With tongue and teeth and everything.  
  
In public for the very first time.   
  
When he re-opens his eyes, (when has he even closed them?) Jeremy is watching them. Watching them with that soft little smile he sometimes gets when they are alone together. Fond, and full of wonder.   
  
Patient, affectionate, and without a hint of jealousy.  
  
Richard loves that expression. Loves it on Jeremy.   
  
Loves _Jeremy_.   
  
He pulls away, smiles at James, gets a wink in return, and then he's on Jeremy.  
  
There's a droning sound building up in the distance and shortly after, eleven pipers march past, piping ‘The Twelve Days of Christmas’ on their bagpipes.   
  
Richard doesn't even break the kiss.   
  
Weirder things have happened.   
  
It's Christmas, after all.   
  
Magic in the air, they say.   
  
And love and peace for everyone.  
  
_Happiness_.  
  



End file.
